


An Inconsistent Crawl to Victory

by Etnoe



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Background Nepeta Leijon, Chains, Eldritchfuck Roseworld, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Light Dom/sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 14:49:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20293249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etnoe/pseuds/Etnoe
Summary: Equius knows that he is due some punishment. John is slow to begin inflicting them, and as Equius waits to accept his due, he doesn't sleep.





	An Inconsistent Crawl to Victory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mirradin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirradin/gifts).

* * *

  
  
"Nnnnoooo. I mean, come ON. No way!" -- John.

"It's acceptable. I promise you, John." -- Madame Lalonde.

Their opposing responses did absolutely nothing to get Equius closer to a state of mind that would let him sleep. He could in fact feel his fingers curling inwards, a motion weaving across the line between voluntary and involuntary action, as he was excessively desperate to dig his nails into the meat of his palms. It would be something bright and solid to stop this sea-sick feeling that was the absolute last thing he was made for. But his inadequately reined-in strength gave him away. His left middle finger scratched a groove into the concrete of the courtyard. Oh, it just had to be the middle finger.

John jumped around, alert to the noise as a hunting cat. "Hey! Oh, hey, dude, I told you, hands flat in front of you. No pinching, no clawing, none of that. I'll, um. I'll be the one punishing you for the day-to-day things from now on. I am, uh, all too sure I made that clear."

Equius ducked his head in the way that indicated he would appreciate permission to speak. Theoretically. John used to be willing to pay attention to that gesture a good 58% of the time, but the efficacy had decreased lately.

Madame Lalonde, however, was as observant as he'd always heard. "Equius, is there something you'd like to say?"

"I can fix this damage. With permission, the material could even be strengthened..."

"Perhaps later," she said dismissively. "In this state, you might fall asleep face-first in the wet concrete."

I would take extreme care, he mouthed, too exhausted to properly marshal his heavy tongue, his distant vocal chords. He'd done too much already, impossibly much, when he'd gone to John and had requested the privilege of not hurting Nepeta.

Madame Lalonde might have seen that too; it took her a beat more, as if waiting to see if he dared anything further, before she turned to John.

"Equius will be able to make up for asking us to change our plans later," she told him. 

"By helping to take care of our big old fixer-upper mansion, yes," John interjected, firm as ever with one of his whims. For as long as they lasted.

"But for now, he's making himself sick. It's just a little bondage; it doesn't have to hurt. He needs to relax - he needs to _sleep_."

She could send dreams; that was information that had made its way over from the women's side at some point. They were cruel, detailed, all her own and nothing of the gods' will. Equius would not, of course, object. Never again. As long as Nepeta was ... away from him...

He began to sweat.

_Fuck_.

John preferred tears so much more. Usually. But to be terrified of seeing Nepeta again--it dissolved him in a stupidly literal way, the empty horror of it taking him to his worst limits.

"Yeah, okay," John sighed. "Guess that's it now, I'll take your advice. Come on, Equius."

One of the beds from the women's side had been brought to the courtyard, midpoint between them. Equius carried it into the men's side, and John waved a hand to tell him to just place it in a shadowed alcove of the foyer. Nothing was improper if he commanded it. Equius put it there and lie down where a breeze from outside could still wash over him.

John secured chains at his ankles, his knees, his torso, his wrists. It should have worked. It worked when Dave was feeling indulgent enough for this kind of thing ... but now ... He still shook with tension, with emotion, setting the metal links rattling against each other. If he was lucky, it would remind John of a funny ghost story before they broke, oh, please, please.

Madame Lalonde assessed him, and then took a length of wool out of a pocket. She passed it to John. "It's a pity it's not his colour - but black suits all occasions. For his throat," she clarified.

"Are you going to snap this?" John asked him, taking the wool by the ends, showing him the thinness of the fibres twined round each other.

The bed creaked as Equius sagged, his whole body easing back. He _had to_.

He looked at John's face as he tied the wool round his throat, not anchored to anything else - John was making a bow with it, he said as he retied it for better effect. A sign of approval. Equius only had to do was lie there for it, relax for him...

And he could. Both he and Nepeta were far from untouched, and both of them had been subject to compromises he would not have dreamt up in the most lurid excesses of his youthful fantasies. But in one vital way, he had helped them remain unsullied.

He felt no shame in hoping that John's blue eyes, in their current kind mood, would see that he was grateful.


End file.
